


Building a team

by makesometime



Series: A Wilde Week 2020 [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: A Wilde Week 2020 (Rusty Quill Gaming), M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prosthesis, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: It’s been two months since joining up with Zolf when Oscar realises that he’s not had a bucket of water over his head. It’s not even been threatened.Quietly and without either of their explicit permissions, they’ve become a somewhat-functioning team.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: A Wilde Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016722
Comments: 36
Kudos: 65
Collections: A Wilde Week 2020





	Building a team

**Author's Note:**

> _Day 1 - “Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much."_  
>  **Forgiveness** | Revenge | Apathy
> 
> You've heard of Zolf 'Acts of Service' Smith, now meet the lesser spotted Oscar 'Acts of Service' Wilde.

It’s been two months since joining up with Zolf when Oscar realises that he’s not had a bucket of water over his head. It’s not even been threatened.

Quietly and without either of their explicit permissions, they’ve become a somewhat-functioning team.

They share meals, they’ve shared rooms. They’ve not shared a bed but, well, he can’t claim to have given up hope just yet.

Perhaps one day Zolf will even stop looking like he’s imagining hands around Oscar’s throat and not in a good way.

It irritates the dwarf, he knows, to have him brought low at the same time. Together they work and together they _suffer_ , Oscar with a sudden lack of magic and Zolf with his sudden lack of team and god all at once.

It would be easy to wallow. He _has_ wallowed, since sending Grizzop off to Rome. But he finds more power in forgiveness now, in at least trying to get along with the grumpy cleric and do something about the horrors that are starting to be reported in London.

Zolf meanwhile finds power in apathy.

It drives him insane, but gods know he won’t say anything about it.

Oscar leaves Zolf at their hotel one unremarkable day, making his way across Damascus with the unfamiliar clink of metal around his ankles still throwing off his gait. Zolf’s consumed lately by his quest to understand the cause of his continued powers and it makes Oscar merely a nuisance, so it’s easy to escape his notice and do this for him, now, when it’s so very necessary.

The Cult of Hephaestus refuses to help with the kill switch but they are more than amenable when he brings them the simulacrum parts and designs and requests a pair of prostheses in their image, to work with the ports on Zolf’s legs.

Perhaps the sack of gold helps.

It takes a relatively short amount of time, in the end, for them to craft a prototype for Zolf to test. Within the week he is heading back with a trolley from the hotel that the bellhop seemed quite perplexed to lend him.

When he wheels it back into their room later, Zolf is deep in meditation and he’s respectful enough not to interrupt. He waits with a book and a drink until the green eyes that he’s become so unwittingly fond of blink open and fix him with a curious look.

“You’re back early.”

He smiles, setting the closed book down. “I achieved my tasks for the day.”

Zolf follows his gaze over to the packing crate, then back with a raised eyebrow. It’s the most emotion he’s got out of the dwarf in weeks, sets a sort of nascent warmth in his chest. “Well I can’t exactly go fetch it.”

“I had this idea.” Oscar says, moving over to the crate and dragging it closer to the bed. He levers the lid the rest of the way off and pushes packing material out of the way to retrieve one of the legs, setting it on the bed in front of Zolf. “They’re not the ones from Paris. A close approximation, maybe. But with none of the…” He searches for the right word, waving his hand in a little flourish.

“Trauma?” Zolf offers, through a faint smile.

“That’s the one.” He smiles. “Will you use them?”

He feels breathless as he waits for Zolf to consider, watching the cleric’s care in the way a palm slides up and down the metal shins.

“Yes.” Zolf says. “Ain’t got many options but also. Yes, Wilde. I will. Thank you.”

It feels like forgiveness of a sort. It feels like acceptance. Somewhere to push on from.

“A very dear friend saved my life.” Wilde says around the unexpected knot of emotion in his throat. “I may not ever get the chance to say thank you. But I can pay it forward.”

Zolf nods, gesturing for the other leg. Once he has them both, Oscar watches as he fits them to his legs with a pleased little exhale at how easily it goes. “Well, I guess that makes things easier.”

“Am I forgiven?” He asks in a rush, before he can think better of it.

They owe each other very little now, if at all. But the look on Zolf’s face as he stretches out his legs feels payment for every debt he has ever owed.

“You already were, Wilde.” He says quietly, not yet able to meet his eye, but at least allowing himself to be vulnerable. “This doesn’t hurt though.”

He could learn a lot from Zolf Smith, Oscar thinks. He hopes he’s going to have the time to do so.


End file.
